Rudolf Sagramore
For a moment, it had worked.
Even in the heat of the battle, under the terrifying pressure of an insurmountable foe, and after all the blunders prior on the scale of the strategic, the political, the interpersonal even— Rudolf still had proven his worth with moment-to-moment tactics.
The three twenty-and-unders had launched into the fray right in the wake of Galahad's mighty blow, finding action through uncertainty enough to seamlessly take command of the situation before the beast in man's clothing had a moment to right itself, to regain its bearing, target, and initiative. Just as he'd bet, he and his fellow Edrenian swordswoman made for a compelling pair of fangs to snap at the big bastard, to force his attention at either flank. He'd never seen Robin move that fast. His opinion on how well she'd do in a spar with him rose several notches— and he'd already figured she'd be troubling. Screams of metal rang out over the dunes as their strikes collided with the Revenant's defenses, and he noted with a little dismay that his armament creaked once more in his grip, just with impact alone— the damage was, clearly, already done.
But it really had worked.
He had thrown his all into the next swing. There was a crash of sparks, blowing wide the arm for the briefest of moments—
And concealing the sound, the sight, of the lightest tread on the field. Their Red Mage, with her slight frame and low approach, had passed right beneath the beast's very occupied field of vision, and brought her blade to bear, charged with naturalborn fulmination. It hadn't seen her coming at all. It had no room, no time, no layers left to defend with. They'd done it.
Her thrust struck true, deep into the bowels of their opponent, as the scent of the storm blossomed through the air in time with the lightning that ravaged whatever lay within the armor. It howled in deafening agony. His gambit— their gambit— had the thing on the ropes.
And then it all went to hell.
With a flicker that belied its enormous frame and the incredible salvo of attacks it had just weathered, the maddened warrior blurred from Rudolf's sight as he returned to the sands, his last attack having come as a leap to reach the thing's head. Any hopes of his that they'd forced it to put that prodigious velocity to a hasty retreated were immediately dashed as it appeared anew, heedless of the hole in its' gut, sword raised high with a dangerous gleam despite the ghostly waver in the image.
His eyes went wide, horrified. At the edge of his vision, he could see two more of the same figure, both looming over the other groups of Kirins. It hadn't been enough. Beasts forced into corners, bit back with every last fiber of their being. He was a fool for forgetting this.
Faced with impending doom Rudolf tried to will himself to move. To guard. To parry, retaliate, force this nightmare away from those he'd dragged into this scheme. But he wouldn't make it. He was too slow. Against this thing, he was as good as paralyzed by fear.
It would have made no difference. His swords would have snapped, and the hew would have torn right through him all the same.
Checkma—
And then, for a brief instant, at the very edge of his perception... time flickered.
He was prisoner, in a moment fractured. Were it not for the dark forces pooling within him hitching as the materia was overlaid onto the world, he would have been none the wiser. A blur at his side, at Galahad's, at Eve's—
And the thing moved as motion returned to the world, forced to guard a series of Godspeed slashes that covered them all across the field. The sharpness returned to the air, as the ringing clashes set the rhythm for a Wild Dance between blades. He had not the eyes, maybe never would, to see their source, but he'd heard the legends of this, passed from swordsman to swordsman, passed by those that had seen the carnage to wreaked upon the battlefield five years ago.
The ghosts faded, the wounded titan returned to the center. Their reprieve had been bought, in time for Rudolf's reactions to finally hit his frame. Returning with him... Ranbu no Izayoi, wrenching her sword arm down with enough force to carve through that damned helmet.
And with her, a spray of crimson.
...
...
...
"Eh?"
Quick as she'd appeared, the legendary swordswoman had been blown away, an ugly red line drawn upon her torso that left a sanguine arc hanging in the air. She returned to the earth in a broken heap, blood pooling around her. The demon of the war he'd thanked his lucky stars to never make an enemy of, in one stroke, had been brought low. Even diminished as she was, he ranked her singularly as the greatest of their number, at least in pure swordsmanship. His mind went numb.
The moment hung in the air, silence shared by all except Izayoi herself, struggling to even lift her head, choking out words that sounded, to him, millions of miles away. They weren't for him to hear... but he couldn't to begin with. All he could make out was the wetness of the rasp, the weakness of the voice, the horror in the tone.
She slumped over. Unequivocally, she was out of the fight. Their guide through these wastes, through this beaten-down nation, cut nearly in half. Already, she was certain to die, if they didn't act fast.
He heard a slight shift to his left side, and his breath caught. That monster was still alive, and it had brought its greatest threat to death's door—
And his frozen, useless will left the picture. He moved, as the decisive instants slowed to a crawl.
Two blurs rocketed forth, jockeying for position. One intent to kill, to run that pest that could most closely match its blade through. The other...
GET OUT HERE! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!?
I've been letting you focus. You die, I die. We've been over that.
Saw black at the edges of his vision. Felt like he was moving through molasses, even though he was at a dead sprint quicker than he, in his nineteen years of life, had ever mustered before. Knew that ahead of him lay not only their best shot at getting where they needed to and back alive, not only their key to getting any progress made on this fucked up, insane longshot of a quest to oppose the entire nation that had this place in a chokehold, not only an invaluably strong member of their number...
They'll see, Rudolf. You've hidden this -so- close to your chest thus far. You're still terrified of her half the time. You're terrified of this thing right now. I'm seeing some wins for you, really. Galahad, Eliane, Eve, Arton, Robin, Miina... They're all right there. You don't need her to finish it off.
DON'T SCREW WITH ME!
But also someone beloved. Ciradyl's old friend, reuniting with the Faye nearly in tears once she'd thrown her arms around her. Kurogane's chosen to inherit the masterwork that he was now racing, even in the bitterness of missed opportunities and stubborn disagreements reminding her that she was missed, mourned, when she first "died". Even Lord Hizen, a man Rudolf had made a point to avoid as much as he could for any number of reasons, still her student, still calling her "auntie" even in the heights of his anger with her.
They would lose her too. If he didn't do something, if he didn't give everything he had—
In his outstretched hand, reaching, clawing through air, at the limits of his small frame's ability to try and get there first... a small point of black began to coalesce from the aether, flowing out of his white desert robes.
He's faster than you. You're pooling flame in your palm. Won't stop him from swinging. Barely stopped Otto, and look where it got you. You said you never wanted that again.
I'M NOT LETTING THEM DOWN! YOU SAID YOU'D TAKE MY LUCK FOR STRENGTH AGAINST THE OVERWHELMING!
Then you consider this "last resort". As you considered facing her.
The voice was right. Even though this instant was an eternity, the Revenant ran through it quicker. It was already thrusting the katana for Izayoi's heart, damn near twice Rudolf's height and reach. There was no way he could beat this thing, on speed, on distance, on even timing, the fraction of a second where he'd realized what was coming to pass was already lead enough. Even if he could somehow draw the useless scrap metal from his back, he wouldn't knock it off course. She would die. Right here on the sand, he would let everyone down again, just when he'd begun to entertain the thought of being one of them.
He couldn't even throw himself in the way under his own power.
I'M PRETTY OVERWHELMED, I'M DEFINITELY UNLUCKY, AND I'M CALLING IN YOUR END OF THE FUCKING DEAL!
But someone he could see needed his help.
So there was only one thing to do with those limits. One recourse, no other acceptable—
Then you accept everything.
Shatter them.
Something snapped beneath his notice, and he found himself between the master and the studen, hand aloft. The pool of black flame was cold, heavy, and drank light rather than emitting it. It burned in his hand, all but an inch away from that razor edge, an oncoming avalanche of a charge behind it.
I call thee forth, Chariot, Chill, Shiver. By thy names in the edda, may you heed me, may you turn away all that would burn the world below this sky. In uttering your titles, I bring you down from heaven to shield this boy, as the Wise Old Man tells it. You are that which checks the blazing sun—
And the blazing ink laid upon the world blossomed forth into wheels within wheels, arcane spokes beset each with runes of pitch in a language long past the time of any nation that was represented here. At once, they erupted forth from Rudolf's palm, as his eyes, so wide and desperate, had all but gone black instead of their usual aurum, unspeakable energy coursing through his body. By layers they came, each sucking in the harsh sun from on high, ghastly chill warding away the unbearable desert heat.
He could no longer feel. He was so single-minded, feeling had stopped. for all he knew, the world was gone.
he was lost within the magic, barely able to stand over his fallen comrade.
his voice echoed through the dunes in stereo alien to his ears, ripping through his throat accompanied by something else.
copper on his teeth
barely
he had not the mind to worry give everything to this moment be glad if theres a later to worry about
"SVALIIIIIIIIIIIINN!"
And Ame-no-Habakiri, one of the finest swords in the nation... was stopped cold, with the sound of ringing bronze.